Down the Rabbit Hole
by x Hemlock x
Summary: Fred and George play a mean trick on four-year-old Ron.


**Down the Rabbit Hole**

_Is this how it ends? __In this cold, dark space, alone and afraid? __No one has come to save me yet. No one has heard my cries for help. Maybe they'll never find me. Maybe this really is the end._

Ron whimpered and tried again to wriggle free, but it was no good. He was well and truly stuck. The darkness weighed on him, closing in around him, attempting to swallow him whole. The tears running down his face were the only source of warmth against his skin, and he shivered again, scratching and rubbing at the goosebumps on his arms.

It was all Fred and George's fault.

They'd taken him into the orchard next to the house. He wasn't allowed in there. Mummy had said so. But he was a big boy, and he hadn't wanted Fred and George to think that he was afraid. The further they'd walked, the older the trees had looked. George had called them 'gnarled giants'. Ron didn't know what 'gnarled' meant, but it sounded scary, which made it the right word. Fat trees with knobbly trunks and rough bark had loomed over the path, their thick foliage dotting out the sun until it had become as dark as nighttime.

Ron had been scared then, but he hadn't wanted Fred and George to call him a baby again, so he'd kept going with slow, hesitant steps, casting nervous glances to the strange shapes and shadows hidden among the trees.

They'd stopped at the biggest tree yet—the most giant and gnarled of the lot—with big, twisted roots that stretched out in all directions like crooked, skeletal fingers. At its base sat a pitch-black hole, dark and scary-looking.

"There are bunnies down there," George had said.

"You want to see the bunnies, don't you, Ron?" Fred had asked.

Ron hadn't been able to answer because of his trembling chin. Of course, he wanted to see the bunnies, but he would have liked it better if they came to him rather than having to get any nearer to that hole.

"He looks scared," George had said to Fred, but Fred's focus had remained on Ron.

"You're not scared, are you, Ron? You're not a little baby any more, right?"

With a shake of his head, Ron had squared his shoulders and stepped toward the hole. One step, two steps, three. He'd crouched down to get a better look, but it was too dark to see.

"You can crawl in," Fred had said. "You're small enough to get in and out."

Ron should have said 'no'. He knew that now. But he was a big boy, and big boys were not afraid of the dark. So he'd got down on all fours and crawled in.

Fred had been only half right. The hole was big enough for Ron to fit in but not wide enough for him to get out. He'd tried—squirming and scrabbling against the damp earth, getting dust under his fingernails and dirt in his mouth. There were no bunnies, only more holes—tunnels—far too small for Ron to fit through. No way out but the way in, and no way through that without help. He'd tried to get Fred and George to pull him out, but they'd only laughed and run off, congratulating themselves on another practical joke well executed.

The last time they'd been this mean to Ron had been when Fred had turned his teddy bear into a giant spider, but that had been payback for when Ron had accidentally broken Fred's toy broomstick. Ron hadn't done anything to deserve this prank. He was sure of it.

Something moved to Ron's right.

He tensed, every muscle going rigid so quickly that it hurt. Remembering the spider incident had been a mistake because now it was all he could think about. What if there were spiders down here with him?

Ron's whimper turned into a muffled sob, which, in turn, became a scream when something grabbed hold of his foot. He twisted and thrashed, fighting against the pull as something dragged him to Merlin only knew where. He shouted and cried, throat raw and eyes stinging, but stopped suddenly when a gust of fresh air hit him.

He opened his eyes as strong arms wrapped around him, and a warm voice whispered against his hair, "It's all right, sweetheart. I've got you. You're safe."

"Mummy!" he shouted, throwing his arms around her neck.

He spotted Fred and George over her shoulder. They shuffled from one foot to the other, heads bent, and eyes glued to their toes.

"You lied!" he told them. "There aren't any bunnies down there."

Fred muttered something about the bunnies hiding from Ron's foul face, but Mummy whipped around, holding Ron firmly against her, and gave Fred a look that had him taking a step back and ducking his head lower until his chin pressed against his chest.

When Mummy looked down at Ron, though, she wore a smile. "The bunnies are probably sleeping. But your brothers are right. Rabbits do live down there. It's called a burrow."

"Like our house? That's called a burrow too."

Mummy's smile warmed her eyes. "That's right, sweetheart. Your daddy's the one who decided to call it that."

"Why?"

She carried Ron back home, Fred and George trailing after them as she told Ron all the reasons their house was just like a bunny's burrow—crowded and cluttered but filled with love.


End file.
